


Puppy Love

by BritishEarper



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: 50s and 60s music, Character Study, Dancing, Diners, F/F, Fluff, Introspection, Kinda, One Shot, Waitress!Shelby, the regan/toni is just in the background, toni has no game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29459631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritishEarper/pseuds/BritishEarper
Summary: “Can I get ya anything?”Oh dear. The waitress was very cute. So cute, in fact, that Toni felt herself blush and looked down into the menu, having forgotten her order.An alternate universe where Toni and Shelby are both emotionally well-adjusted and Shelby works at a diner. Toni tries to flirt with waitress!Shelby. It isn't not successful.
Relationships: Regan/Toni Shalifoe, Shelby Goodkind & Toni Shalifoe, Shelby Goodkind/Toni Shalifoe
Comments: 7
Kudos: 110





	Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where both Toni and Shelby are both well-adjusted adults. The island never happened. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

The moment Toni stepped into the diner, she felt comfort. The floor had black and white tiles, there was twangy guitar and Chuck Berry singing off in the background, and there were at least three black-and-white shots of Elvis on the walls. There was the tell-tale smell of fries and burger grease as she inhaled and photos of old cars. She couldn’t help but laugh a little under her breath and close her eyes; of course this was the type of diner she would walk into. 

The song switched to Earth Angel, but it sounded thin and tinny in the speakers, a little like a whisper, both too loud and high pitched, and she thought quietly of Regan. Her smile, her eyes. Her palms itched, and she smiled a little. It was a private smile, small and as much internal as not. They had danced to this, she remembered, her feet on Regan’s, Regan teaching her the steps, arms around her neck, laughing into her neck at the outdated, ridiculous old timey music, loving every moment. She was still terrible at dancing. Her palms always got too hot and clammy.

She sat down in a booth in the corner, readjusted herself on the overstuffed red cushions and looked through the artists on the wall next to her with a passive interest. She pulled off her dark green jacket, let it rest limply on the cushion, and switched to looking through the menu. God, she was hungry. She ran her hands along her trousers as her eyes scanned the sections on the laminated yellow-white card. She was wearing corduroys and loved the way the fabric moved under her hands. Calming. Back and forth, back and forth. The chocolate milkshake looked good, and maybe a burger...

“Can I get ya anything?” Oh dear. The waitress was very cute. Her hair was clearly meant to have the Parton volume but it fell flat and she was wearing a very bright shade of red lipstick that did not in any way fit her. Despite this, she was very cute. So cute, in fact, that Toni felt herself blush and looked down into the menu, having forgotten her order. She blurted - “Just a...meatloaf sandwich, please? And maybe a milkshake?” Her eyes darted up, made eye contact, her stomach flipped, and Toni registered what she had just said.  
Shit.  
Toni hated meatloaf. Like, _hated_ . (Both the food and the artist.)

Supposing God existed, somewhere up in Heaven he was laughing at her.

The waitress raised her eyebrows and smiled a little. “You sure about that?” Her voice had a teasing lilt, and wasn’t as shy as she thought it would be. Shelby, her name tag said. Pretty name for a prettier girl. Yep, Toni was fucked.

Toni huffed a little; her stubborn side was coming out. No backing down now.“Yes. Heated, please.” She crossed her arms. If she was going to eat trash, at least it could be hot trash.

“Okay, that’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Shelby said before walking back into the closed double doors where the kitchen was, a sway in her step.

In the background, a fast song began to play. It was maybe about a girl or surfing or a car; whatever the fuck it was about, Toni tapped along to the rhythm of the drums with her foot. She had tried playing the drums a couple of years ago, but it was too structured for her. All those beats you had to play in time to, and counting to eight all the time drove her crazy. It was like some kind of fucked up anger management device. Containing all her focus on one moment and keeping in time was a nightmare, let alone the coordination. It was good for expressing anger, though. Sometimes she wondered if it would have been good for her to keep on playing. 

The sandwich came quickly after that, and Toni grimaced through every bite, no matter the fact that she brought this on herself.

Toni’s relationship with meatloaf sandwiches was fraught. The first time she ate one was when Martha’s mother offered one for her in their kitchen. She was ten years old, had just befriended Martha and wanted to make a good impression, and so ate the whole sandwich, even though her mouth (and later digestive system) protested after the first bite. It was… not good. She threw up a couple of hours later. (Thank God for Martha being a vegetarian, because neither of them would under any circumstance bring meatloaf into their apartment.)

Another formative memory came from that night, though- seeing Martha’s mother and father dancing to some slow oldies tune in 3/4 time. The lights were a warm and low orange, the singer’s voice smooth and low in pitch, and it was warm. He dipped her in the tiny kitchen, and the fact that she hit her hip on the dining table, they stopped to laugh, and then returned to dancing made it all the more romantic.

The experience showed there was still some semblance of goodness and love in the world to her hardened eyes. Toni kept the memory of the moment in her for dark moments, that silhouette of them in embrace, and traced over it in her heart. She remembered watching them with wide, tiny ten-year-old eyes from across the kitchen table, this couple dancing, so completely in their own world; her ten-year-old heart swelled.

She was brought back to the present by a sharp jingle and rush of cold, thin air from the door. 

She sipped her milkshake, savoured it by closing her eyes. It was one of those rich milkshakes made from cows that had probably been massaged and fed wine or some shit like that; one of those milkshakes that travelled slowly, slowly up the straw. The taste travelled across her tongue pleasantly. 

She called for the receipt with a raised hand and bright eyes. This time she would be smooth, and cool, like James Dean.

“All good?” Shelby asked as she took away her plate and glass.

“Yup.” Toni said.

_(Now, I need to lay on the Shalifoe charm. Just not pressure her. It is her job, after all.)_

Toni said, “No pressure, but I-”

“You have milkshake on your nose. Let me get ya a napkin.”

God laughed in the distance as she cleaned up her nose and fumbled her way through asking Shelby out. Even though Shelby left with a smile, Toni was not feeling overly hopeful.

At the end of her ordeal the receipt came, along with a _You’re cute. Call me?_ and her number, all scrawled in a loopy style. Toni grinned, shaking her head, and pulled out of the diner, entering Shelby’s number. She pulled on her jacket, and drove home singing to the radio.

And hey, if she danced a little at the kitchen table the following evening, Martha didn’t comment. She just smiled quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first published fic, so any kudos/comments are very appreciated.
> 
> (If anyone's interested, the songs mentioned are:  
> Almost Grown by Chuck Berry  
> Earth Angel by The Penguins  
> Poetry In Motion by Johnny Tillotson  
> Are You Lonesome Tonight by Elvis Presley)


End file.
